Friday, September 10, 2010

started all this fun wireless stuff, letting me blog en route to Memphis.

Yanno, that plaque isn't entirely correct. I know this because me and Guglielmo, we go way back to 4th grade reading. Out-loud reading was always a death grip fear for me, because of my stuttering. My assignment one day was a two paragraph blurb about the G, and that's how I know the first American Marconi station was on Cape Cod.

It was really important to me to get that out-loud reading assignment correct, so I poured over it for days, practicing "Guglielmo" until it was as smooth as honey. I liked saying that name because I was told I was half-Italian, so I imagined Guglielmo the grandfather of one of my likely suspects. I wanted to be related to him because I thought he had nice eyes and because he did something cool.

I practiced, and practiced, and practiced, and finally on the assignment day I read my paragraphs without a single stutter, extremely proud of myself over my correct Italian pronunciation of his name. At the end, Sr. Bernard said, "That was very good, Theresa, only his last name isn't Macaroni, it is Marconi" and everyone in the class laughed and that's why I hate adoption.

Anyway.

I took that picture yesterday, my last day on my Long beloved beloved beloved to the point of nauseum on this blog Island. I didn't get out the door as fast as I would have liked due to some unfortunate irritating-me-immensely-and-holding-me-up drama which seems to be my lot in life. The fact that I would so very much like to have a quiet life yet always seem to have anything but leads me to believe I somehow share the same character defects as this guy. But, I am out and just one more day's drive away from my new home.

Yes I cried, of course I cried, how could anyone not cry to leave a town named Babylon, there is no more perfect name in all of America, and a wonderful name of a place for any bastid to reside. As at one time or another we're all assumed from some idiot to be offspring of prostitutes, or thankfully rescued by adoption from being whores ourselves, to live in a town whose name is so closely tied with promiscuity is beyond perfect. Although my internet time is limited, I have seen more than a few "destined to be a teenage prostitute" posts from some particularly odious rescuer-minded adoptive parents over the past few weeks, waxing repulsive projections of the futures of their adoptlings had they not blessed them with adoption.

I know those kind of projections piss you off as much as me, so to make you happy instead, I wanted to let you know that when you cross the border to Tennessee, across from the welcome station is a building shaped like a guitar, but someone should really cut those trees back so you can get a better look at it.

I was able to google 'building shaped like a guitar tennessee' when I got to the hotel thanks to my friend G-Macaroni. That's how I found out this cool building was once the Grand Guitar Museum in Bristol, TN which claims to be the birthplace of Country Music. Next time I blog, it will be in the birthplace of rock 'n roll. I don't like country music as much as I like rock or wireless, as a matter of fact I don't like country music at all, but I think it's funky nevertheless that this birthless bastid left one American birthplace for another.

Wireless, country, rock and me. None of us have birth certificates, but we're all still here anyway. Give me a little bit to get settled in, and I'll be back soon.

Oh and by the way, speaking of births of a sort, one thing I must must do once settled....

It's only a day-trip away. You so know I'm going. I must must must make a field trip. I mean, c'mon. You just don't see shit like this up in Long Island.

Thursday, August 26, 2010

In a scene near the end of "Wo Ai Ni Mommy," Jeff Sadowsky explains that Faith had recently asked him, "Why would you want a daughter from China?" His explanation: "Well, I've always been into things from China. I guess, from the martial arts -- I've always been -- I love China." Donna quickly steps in to course-correct: "I told her, 'I wanted a daughter, and you needed a family. We didn't see you as being Chinese, we saw you as a beautiful girl who wanted a family.'"

Wednesday, August 25, 2010

Originally posted at AAAFC, reposting here because moving makes me cranky and bitching is good for the complexion

Via email:

Dear Theresa,

I am working for the communication department of (retracted because I'm being nice) and I am currently opening an account on its behalf on Twitter. I found out that the name ULB was already taken and I allow myself to contact you just to check a few things with you. I would like to know what the name ULB means to you because I haven't seen any connections between this acronym and your name or your activities on adoptee rights. We would like very much to use this name as it stands for our (retracted because I'm being nice). Do you think it might be possible that you give it to us? I know it's quite a strange request but I'd rather ask, just in case it is possible. I thank you in advance for your concern and look forward to hearing from you.

And my reply, because I wasn't feeling so nice:

ULB is a name I have used for a long time and is very much known in the adoption blogging community. While the Twitter feed may be sporadically updated now, it's my identity. No, you can't use it.

Seriously... asking an adoptee to give up their identity?

Not cool.

For the importance and reclaiming of acronyms, be sure to visit Addie, who not only KAD's as a NCFA, she'll also kick my ass if I don't get my reunion piece into her Pieces of Reunion book.

In the article, he recounts a stunningly clueless exchange with writer and shrink Susie Orbach, who in one line pretty much says it all:

"I had another sister once," I said. "They sent her back."

For once, the studio – normally a civil sort of a bear-pit, everyone anxious to say their piece – fell silent.

"I was ... three and a half? Four? They adopted a baby. I remember her name. Beverley Henderson. 'This is your new sister,' they said. And then after a few weeks – I don't know how long in reality – she was gone. They sent her back. I never saw her again."

After the broadcast, walking to the lifts, Susie Orbach said: "You know what I said about coming to see me? Forget it. We've got to the bottom of it, on-air. No wonder. What a thing to do to a child."

"Send her back?" I said.

"No. She was probably fine. I mean to you. To give you the idea that it could happen to you, too. That you could be sent back. For no reason. Just ... sent back."

This falls into the adoptees are magic category. The same sort of magic that tells pregnant women in childbirthing classes how important it is not to separate from their newborns after birth, but that it's A-OK to do it to us.

I do think it was a traumatic thing that Michael Bywater witnessed. I have no doubt it probably terrified the shit out of him in ways he can't even articulate. But worse still is the underlining message - adoptees, unlike really kids, do not deserve the same compassion and consideration as the real.
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